


First Impressions (Or Something Like That)

by weezly14



Series: Time Loop [6]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weezly14/pseuds/weezly14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose's first impression of John Smith, in the timeline that stuck. (Another Rose POV.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions (Or Something Like That)

            She doesn’t know his name.

            She’s taken to thinking of him as ‘that guy from the shop.’

            Once or twice she’s considered dropping a comment into the comment box by the door. _Nametags_.

            He doesn’t say much, and there’s this sadness to him that breaks her heart for reasons she doesn’t quite understand. She doesn’t know him. But she sees him every day—almost everyday. And every day he smiles at her and says nothing and every day she wants to hug him and tell him it’ll get better. Whatever it is that’s put that sadness in his eyes.

            She wishes him a happy new year and he’s never looked so sad as when he says, “Yeah, you too.”

\---

            Sometimes she wants to ask his name. She never does, though. He always smiles at her, real, genuine smiles, but there’s a distance, too. He’s only ever polite.

            He draws on her cup, too. Every day her name is different, and it always makes her smile. Sometimes he draws a rose, sometimes he writes her name in cursive or some sort of stylized writing. She wonders if he does this for all his customers, or if it’s just for her.

            She hopes it’s just for her, and she curses herself for her crush on that guy from the coffee shop.

\---

            Once she thinks she sees him at the pub, with the ginger woman from the shop. He’s smiling at something another bloke is saying, but there’s something subdued about him. Jack says something to her, then, and she tears her eyes away and wonders if he notices her.

            Wonders why it matters so much to her.

\---

            It’s just another Saturday when she walks into the shop and the smile he gives her is different. Automatic. Fond. She can’t help the smile that breaks out on her face.

            “Hey,” she says as she reaches the counter.

            “Good afternoon. Your usual?”

            “Yes, please.”

            She watches him ring up the order, grab a cup and a sharpie and write on it. It’s funny to her that she knows his handwriting so well, but not his name or anything else. She always watches as he writes on the cup, because, trivial though the task is, he always has this look of intense concentration on his face when he does so. She likes that look.

            She likes it more when he smiles at her. He has a nice smile. Sometimes it’s bright. Sometimes it’s sad. Sometimes there’s a softness to it she doesn’t understand, because they don’t know each other but there are feelings behind the way he looks at her, those moments, and she wonders who he’s seeing. She must remind him of someone, she thinks.

            Someone he lost, probably.

            Figures.

            He hands the cup off to the woman making drinks and then he hands her her card and receipt and she smiles once more at him before going to wait for her drink.

            When she sits down she notices that he drew a rose today on the side of her cup. She can’t help the smile that blooms on her face and she just resists the urge to look over at him.

            Sometimes she feels his eyes on her but she refuses to meet his gaze. If he wants—

            She tries to focus on her book.

            She’s reading when several things happen in quick succession: he appears in front of her; the fire alarm goes off; he grabs her hand.

            “Run.”

            She follows him out, disoriented because blimey that alarm is loud, but then there’s his hand clasped around hers and why exactly was he standing in front of her in the first place?

            They stand out on the sidewalk with the other patrons and he’s still holding her hand and looking around at everyone and she likes the feeling of her hand in his so she doesn’t make any move to pull away.

            Of course, at that moment he seems to realize and he lets go and runs that hand through his hair, offering her an apologetic smile.

            “Sorry,” he says, sheepishly.

            “No, it’s—it’s fine,” she reassures him, because she can’t very well tell him she’s perfectly fine with him holding her hand, now can she? But she smiles at him because she can tell he’s feeling awkward and she doesn’t really want him to run away just now, and he smiles back and she likes it when he smiles.

            “I’m the Doctor, by the way. What’s your name?”

            _Doctor_. Clearly a nickname, but internally she’s jumping because he’s just told her his name, and even though he knows hers—has been writing and drawing it on coffee cups for weeks—he’s introducing himself. He wants to meet her, properly.

            “Rose. Rose Tyler,” she answers. He grins and something pulls at her heart with that.

            “Nice to meet you, properly, Rose Tyler,” he says.

            She decides, then and there, that she loves the way he says her name.

            “Doctor what?” she asks, grinning because they’re _talking_ , properly talking, with names and everything. Like two people, not just a customer and an employee.

            “Just the Doctor,” he replies. “I was bringing you this, before the alarm.”

            He hands her a pastry bag. She looks inside and there’s a blueberry muffin and something’s tugging at her heart again.

            “Why?” she asks, curious. He rubs the back of his neck and looks down at his trainers and he’s _adorable_ and shy and shrugging and saying,

            “Just. Wanted to.”

            She grins and his eyes zero in on her tongue between her teeth and that’s interesting.

            “You bring all the girls blueberry muffins?” she asks because she can’t help herself, but he turns serious.

            “No, just you.”

            And he’s so damn _sincere_ standing there in his stupid apron, his hair messier than it normally is because he’s been running his hand through it, looking at her with an expression that tugs at something in her and she has no idea who this bloke is, other than apparently he’s called the Doctor and he serves her coffee and draws her name and smiles at her. But God, she _wants_ to know who he is.

            The fire department appears right then, though, so she doesn’t have a chance to respond before he’s smiling at her and walking away to join the ginger woman who works with him.

            She could leave. Most of the other people at the shop are. But she stays. She eats the muffin he brought her (and how sweet is he, and how did he know blueberry was her favorite?) and watches him.

            She’s be lying if she said she didn’t find attractive. Of course she does. Tall and thin and she wonders what it would be like to hug him, if he’s all angles and limbs or if it would be soft and wonderful even still. Brown hair that sticks up all over. He wears an oxford and a tie every day with his apron, and she’s noticing now that he’s wearing scuffed up chucks, and it’s so endearing she can’t help but smile.

            He’s listening and nodding, hands shoved in his pockets, and she’s the only person still waiting around. She takes another piece of the muffin and watches as the fire department leaves. The ginger woman says something to him and glances at her, and then he looks over at her, too, before walking towards her.

            “Shop’s closed,” he says.

            “Yeah, I figured as much,” she replies, and suddenly she’s not sure about her decision to stay.

            “Aren’t you gonna go home?” he asks. She sees him cringe a bit and he’s _nervous_ and it makes her stomach flip and she offers him a piece of her muffin and she feels 15 again, talking to a cute boy from class.

            “Dunno. What about you?”

            He shrugs. Chews.

            “Actually, I was gonna go to this—this exhibit. Do you want to come?”

            Her heart beats a little faster and he’s looking at her with this hopeful expression and he has freckles, she notices, and she grins, decision made.

            “Sure.”

            He grins back and holds out his hand for her to take and she does, and there’s something familiar about the gesture—which is ridiculous—but there’s something familiar about _him_ , generally, and as he leads her away from the shop she hopes this is the start of something.

            And she hopes he keeps smiling.

           


End file.
